


Braids

by Louhetar



Series: Jonmund Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Art, Braids, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff, Free Folk culture, Grooming, Hair Braiding, Husbands, Jon Snow of The Free Folk, Long-Haired Jon Snow, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, The Free Folk, The wildlings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louhetar/pseuds/Louhetar
Summary: “When was the last time you brushed your hair?” The voice startles him from over the piece of parchment on which he’s been writing a letter to Sansa.“Hm?” Jon has been so focused on the writing he didn’t hear what he was asked.“Your hair, when was the last time it was brushed? Honestly, it’s starting to look like a bird’s nest” Tormund comments from laying underneath their furs, propped on one arm and observing Jon.A Tumblr prompt about Tormund braiding Jon's hair





	Braids

**Author's Note:**

> based on a Tumblr Prompt  
"can you write a lil something about tormund braiding jons hair like the wildlings do? "
> 
> Art by me  
Beta by Jenny_D  


“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” The voice startles him from over the piece of parchment on which he’s been writing a letter to Sansa.  
  
“Hm?” Jon has been so focused on the writing he didn’t hear what he was asked.

“Your hair, when was the last time it was brushed? Honestly, it’s starting to look like a bird’s nest” Tormund comments from laying underneath their furs, propped on one arm and observing Jon.

It’s early morning, and Jon planned to spend it on writing some people. They have very few ravens but besides him, not many of The Free Folk can write. Then again, they usually don’t need ravens to carry messages, seeing how there are wargs among them.

Jon’s quite sleepy and needs a moment to realise what Tormund’s asking him. When he does, his hand moves to his long hair and he blushes a deep red. He can feel how tangled it is, with many knots and he thinks some of it got matted. With a thought, he starts looking through his belongings in a search of an object he only now notices, haven’t been used in months. Jon can feel Tormund’s curious gaze from their fur bed.

Finally, he finds the object he’s been seeking, a small bronze mirror. He sees his own reflection for the first time in many months and almost gasps when he barely recognises the face looking back at him. His beard has gotten really thick, not really long, like Tormunds’s. He decides, he likes it this way. It helps to protect his face from the biting cold. His hair though… It has gotten long, really long he only now realises seeing how it falls on his chest in black curls. Or would be black, because it’s matted and dirty. He feels quite embarrassed with himself and how little thought he’s been putting to his appearance. He knows that in the Free Folk culture, hair takes quite an important place, so he gets mortified at the thought what the clan members may think of him.

Jon sighs and starts looking for the shears. “It’s about time I get rid of this bloody stuff,” he murmurs, letter in front of him forgotten.

“No!” The sudden yell startles him so much he drops the sharp device. Jon looks at his husband surprised as the man almost trips when he jumps from under their furs in his whole naked glory.

“Put something on yourself or your dick will freeze off,” Jon muses. “Why ‘no’?” he adds as he watches Tormund dress with a raised eyebrow.

“Why would you cut your hair?” the man asks, surprise and confusion thick in his voice

“It’s gotten too long, and is dirty and messy,” he points out, still not seeing Tormund’s point. But when he looks at his man, he realises Tormund stopped cutting his own. It’s not as long as Jon’s, but longer than what he’s used to.

“Please don’t cut it, little crow.” Tormund all but begs.

“Why not?” Jon really doesn’t see what it is about.

He watches his husband and realises that Tormund’s blushing. The big, fearsome warrior blushing because of his hair. “Wait… you like it?” He asks, genuinely surprised.

“I… yes,” Tormund admits and blushes, averting Jon’s gaze. “It really suits you, makes you look wild, makes you look like you feel you finally belong here,” he says, bringing one hand to lightly caress his messy curls. A lock of hair falls on Jon’s face and he notes, it reaches way past his chin.

“But it’s so tangled and dirty, I’m really unsure how to deal with it,” he admits, embarrassed.

The laugh that erupts from his Tormund's lips almost makes him jump again.

“Oh, believe me, your hair is fine, it just needs some taking care of.” He affirms a gentle smile on his face. He brushes the lock from Jon’s face and behind his ear.

Jon considers it. Tormund seems determined to do it, and besides, he could use some grooming.

“Alright,” he finally says, smiling at his lover thankfully. Tormund beams at him and tells him to wait a bit. He just looks amused as the man storms off from their tent, and goes back to the half-written letter on the small table in front of him.

Tormund arrives a few minutes later with two buckets. One empty, and one filled with some hot water and some soap.Jon groans. But then, he thinks, he doesn’t remember when was the last time his hair has gotten a proper washing

“No complaining, come over here,” Tormund commands, his tone warm and joking.

Jon gets up, resigned, and comes to where Tormund sitting on the tent’s floor. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Undress and kneel down there. We don’t want your furs to get water on them. Put your head over the empty one and let me wet it.” Tormund commands and he does so, shivering a bit.

Then there is hot water running down his scalp and neck and Jon sighs with it contently. Tormund tries to run his fingers through his wet locks, but they get instantly stuck. The man grimaces and leans to grab some of the scented soaps they got from Sansa. Jon breaths in the strong smell of lavender, so out of place in a place so cold. Then there are strong but gentle hands massaging his scalp and trying to remove knots from his hair with a bone brush. Jon yelps and whimpers in pain a few times when some hair gets pulled. The feeling not at all pleasant in a situation like this. 

Finally, after almost an hour of work, all the knots were removed from his hair. He realises, surprised, surprised, that his hair when wet and straight almost reaches his belly button. When had it gotten _ this _ long?

“Your hair is really pretty; matches your name too,” Tormund murmurs quietly, sitting behind him and running his fingers through the black waves. This time they go through his hair without anything stopping them.

Tormund hums to himself, his hands still massaging his head. Jon finds the motion incredibly relaxing.

“Say, Jon…” His husband starts and Jon looks back at him. The ginger chieftain rarely uses his name, and when he does it means the matter is important.

“Yes?” he asks, leaning back against the man’s warm chest.

“There is a custom in my tribe,” the ginger starts, a bit sheepishly. Jon looks at him but lets him continue. “There is a custom to braid your mate’s hair,” Tormund almost whispers to him. “Would you let me?”

Jon turns around to look at Tormund stunned. He’s never had his hair braided before. He only remembers Arya’s attempts to do it when they were small children. He smiles fondly at the memory from a different life.

"And can you do it?” he throws with a smile and watches the man’s face brighten at his words.

“You’re forgetting I have two small girls, of course I can braid hair,” the big man says with a smile.

Jon smiles at the thought of the two small girls who stayed with Sansa in Winterfell. “How do you want to do it?”

“You’ll see. Make yourself comfortable, it’s going to take some time,” Tormund says warmly as he starts parting his hair.

The man works for a long time, Jon often winces as his hair gets pulled. He can tell that whatever the man is making, it’s very elaborate. The image of Daenerys Targaryen comes to his mind and he grimaces.

Finally, Tormund is done and the man gets up and moves to stand in front of him. Jon wants to ask how it is, bit notices just how much in awe Tormund seems to be when he stands here looking down at him. The man hands him Jon’s looking glass and he almost gasps.

The braids adorning his hair looks _ nothing _like those of the late Mother of Dragons. A large braid runs along the top of his head, and two rows of smaller ones sit right by his skin at the sides. It makes him almost appear as if his sides are shaved. Five braids meet on the back of his hair and the rest of his hair is left loose. He notices some small silver rings weaved in the intricate plaits. Somehow, the haircut doesn’t make him look royal, like Daenerys, it makes him look like a wild warrior. He’s utterly speechless.

“So, do you like it?” Tormund’s voice wakes him up and Jon knows he’s looking at the man dumbfounded.

“Tormund,” he almost sobs the name. The man looks at him concerned, visibly scared that Jon doesn’t like it. “It’s absolutely amazing,” he admits, looking at the sides and touching them lightly. He’s not a vain person but the amount of care Tormund put into it is stunning. It’s hard to believe that the man’s thick fingers are able to do such intricate work.

“Where did you learn this?” he finally asks when Tormund sits next to him on the furs.

“My late mother. ‘Remember this, you’ll have to braid your future wife’s hair’” Tormund’s voice is high and squeaky,clearly imitating his mother's voice. Jon laughs at his husband’s antics.

“Would you teach me this?” Jon suddenly asks, smiling at the man warmly.

“Oh you wouldn’t be able to do it on yourself,” Tormund deadpans.

“Who says anything about me,” Jon smirks as he brushes the man’s now longer hair. “If you keep growing your hair, one day I’ll be able to do it,” Jon smiles, loving how Tormund’s eyes brightened at his words.

“Absolutely, my Little Crow,” Tormund says and lands a sweet kiss on Jon’s lips, making him melt against the bigger man’s chest.


End file.
